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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126796">Express Yourself</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes'>SleepsWithCoyotes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends With Benefits To Lovers, M/M, Masks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:06:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He's just pulling a worn blue tee over his head when he notices Wade left his mask behind on the bathroom counter.  He's not unused to seeing Wade without it, even before he got comfortable enough with the man to reciprocate, but Wade usually remembers to tuck anything that comes off into a pouch for quick getaways.  Well.  The gloves, mostly.  The mask doesn't come off unless they're settling in for a marathon of movies or gaming, and that's...a lot less complicated than anything that might require a polite seeing of oneself to the door or nearest fire escape.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Coyo's Halloween Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Express Yourself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My Generic Spideypool Character Note: I don't honestly care which Wade or Peter you want to imagine for this; I didn't have anyone in particular in mind, other than that I generally ignore everything that happened canon-wise after Winter Soldier, so there's like...literally one thing I ever intend to write with Holland's Spidey specifically, and this is not that fic. (Deadpool Movieverse is A-okay! :D I definitely prefer the movieverse versions of Weasel and Domino to comics canon, heh. And May is probably always going to be ITSV!May, because I adore her.) So yeah, I just tossed everything into a baking dish and made canon casserole, seasoned to (my) taste. Bon appetit!</p><p>Current Fic Notes: So, yesterday's fic was more of a trick, lol...today's is more of a treat.  ;3  Theme of the day (two of thirteen, going strong!) is Masks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hearing the rattling of his kitchen cabinets as Peter steps out of the shower isn't a surprise.  Regenerating is hungry work, and Wade's healing factor burns through calories the way his cancer burns through healthy cells, even without the sudden deficit of blood loss or a limb to regrow.  The fact that Wade is still scrounging--or, more likely, held off long enough for Peter to get through his own shower, since he was nice enough to offer Wade the first--is akin to a starving dog deciding he doesn't need that steak dinner you left unattended, not just yet.</p><p>Mostly-empty cupboards apparently abandoned, the refrigerator door opens as Peter steps into the grey sweatpants he brought into the bathroom with him.  "Ooh, pineapple and olive?" he hears Wade say, half to himself, gruff voice rising in volume in the next instant  "Mind if I have a slice?"</p><p>"You're the one who left it here," Peter calls back, opening the door to let the gathered steam of two quick showers escape now that he's at least half dressed.  "Help yourself."</p><p>"You're a peach, Spidey!  Inside and out!"</p><p>Peter snorts, one corner of his mouth curling up as he swipes at the mirror with his towel.  He can't see any cuts he might have missed, even when he turns his back to the mirror and cranes his head to look.  He feels <i>bruised</i>, but getting smacked halfway through a wall by a flailing robot arm will do that to you. So far his suit and the building's pipes seem to be the worst casualties; plaster dust is a royal plain to clean up.</p><p>He's just pulling a worn blue tee over his head when he notices Wade left his mask behind on the bathroom counter.  He's not unused to seeing Wade without it, even before he got comfortable enough with the man to reciprocate, but Wade usually remembers to tuck anything that comes off into a pouch for quick getaways.  Well.  The gloves, mostly.  The mask doesn't come off unless they're settling in for a marathon of movies or gaming, and that's...a lot less complicated than anything that might require a polite seeing of oneself to the door or nearest fire escape.</p><p>Still.  He's never had a chance to really examine Wade's mask before, not that he hasn't wanted to for a while.  He knows Wade has a lot of contacts with access to tech of questionable provenance, might just have a tighter finger on the pulse of the personal armor industry than even Stark does these days.  It's still a <i>crime against science</i> that Wade's got someone who can build him something as mobile and expressive as the Deadpool mask while Peter's still trying to cook up some way to bulletproof spandex in the university chem lab.</p><p>Even with the mask right there, he hesitates to reach for it.  Really, he should ask first.  Wade probably wouldn't even mind.  Heck, he'd probably brag about the favors he's owed and how much it cost, while quivering underneath with the same childish glee over how <i>cool</i> it is.  Peter doesn't generally share Wade's enthusiasm for guns, but get them together over a piece of non-lethal gadgetry, and they can geek out together like nobody's business.</p><p>He opens his mouth to shout the request, then closes it again.  Wade's comfortable around him, more comfortable than Peter's seen him with anyone else, but Wade's relationship with the mask comes with rules Peter can only guess at.  If he's reached the point where he can just leave it lying on Peter's counters without a second thought, that's a good thing, right?</p><p>Which probably means he <i>really</i> shouldn't be doing this, but...<i>science</i>.</p><p>It feels surprisingly light when he picks it up, though he's not sure what he was expecting.  The synthetic material is cottony-soft, thin and breathable as it'd have to be, considering it covers Wade's entire face.  Poking his fingers into the neck opening, he rubs his thumbs over the mouth area from the outside and feels no change of thickness in the cloth.  Peter turns it over in his hands and pulls apart the seam at the back to peer inside, but other than the neat stitches backing the black eye patches and around the lenses, the mask is near-featureless.</p><p>Peter frowns.  He's no expert on nanofibers, but there should have been <i>something</i>, shouldn't there?  Some sort of pressure sensors or points of contact to read the shifting muscles of Wade's expression and translate it to the mask's surface, some mechanism to control the dilation of the lenses or the drape of the material around them.  He's seen them go wide with fake shock and real joy; he just can't for the life of him see <i>how</i>.</p><p>Maybe it's all built in, like a photostatic veil, in which case....</p><p>Stomach clenching with the mortification of doing something wildly taboo, Peter lifts the mask to his face and puts it on, tucking his still-damp hair in as he presses closed the seam in the back.  He's instantly drowned in the too-familiar scent of Wade--gunpowder and spice, iron and a strange, heavy sweetness he doesn't care to examine too closely--and it almost offends him how his thudding heartbeat automatically slows.  It's practically a trauma response:  no matter how bad the situation, Wade's arrival means things are about to get a whole lot more interesting, but also a whole lot more survivable, and his inner panic button <i>knows</i> that.</p><p>There's no other reason for it.  Of course.</p><p>Leaning forward a little to watch himself in the mirror, he tries arching his brows, opening his eyes wide and then narrowing them, but nothing happens.  The material doesn't shift at all, even when Peter frowns, giving back nothing but the blank-faced stare Wade only uses to demonstrate just how thoroughly he's ignoring you.  Stretching his mouth in an obvious grimace, he sees a vague shift in the topography of the mask, but nothing like Wade's insufferable smirk.</p><p>"What the heck?" Peter grumbles.  Is it biometrically activated?  Why go to that much trouble for a mask?</p><p>He's still glaring at his reflection when Wade strolls up, squeaky-clean and soft-edged in a pair of flannel pants and a tee he left over the last time he roped Peter into giving in to his pleas for a slumber party.  The instant Wade's eyes settle on Peter's face, he stops dead in the doorway, empty pizza box falling from his hand to clatter to the floor.</p><p>"Uh," Peter stammers, hands flying up to peel the mask off, only he can't find the seam, which should have been right there, come <i>on</i>.  "Sorry, I wasn't trying to--I just wanted to see how it worked--I know I should have asked, but--"</p><p>Eyes huge, Wade reaches out slowly, pokes Peter in the shoulder with a single pointer finger, and only looks more perplexed when Peter rocks back half an inch at the pressure.  "Huh," Wade says distractedly.  "You're usually a lot more naked when I see you in that."</p><p>What?</p><p>"What?" Peter asks, hands stilling behind his head.  That...was not what he'd expected to hear, not least because...they don't get naked, not when they're doing what Wade's insinuating.  He honestly hadn't thought Wade had wanted to.  "You're not...mad?" Peter has to ask, ready to duck a punch if it turns out Wade's just surprised and still working through that.</p><p>Wade is still staring, but it's starting to look less like horror and more like awe the longer Peter's exposed to it.  "Mad?  Are you--wait, what?  How it works?  What do you mean?" Wade asks, hairless brows scrunching in confusion.</p><p>Peter huffs, letting his hands drop in temporary defeat.  "With the expression, and the eyes, and the--you <i>know</i> what I mean!"</p><p>Wade grins like he thinks Peter's having him on.  "Well, how does <i>your</i> mask work?"</p><p>"It doesn't."  This isn't <i>news</i> to Wade, is it?  How can he--</p><p>"Pssht.  Doesn't work," Wade scoffs, shaking his head with a forgiving smile.  "Look, I hate to break it to you, but if you thought you had any kind of a poker face, think again, sweetcheeks.  You might as well be wearing a mood ring the size of your head."</p><p>"Wait, what are <i>you</i> talking about?  It's a mask," Peter insists, struggling against an uncertainty he knows he ought to be immune to by now.  There's just something about the complete confidence Wade has in his wacky ideas that tempts others into wondering if <i>they're</i> the crazy ones.  "They're not that expressive.  Most of the time."</p><p>Eyes sparking with challenge, Wade's smile stretches into a grin.  "Tell you what, then.  Why don't you go put your own mask on and make some faces at me.  If I can copy 'em back, that'll prove I'm right."</p><p>"Fine.  And when you end up making goofy faces at yourself, I'm going to point and laugh, fair warning," Peter huffs, sliding past him.  He's pretty sure he remembers leaving his mask on the coffee table, and he finds it lying beside the PS4 controllers Wade must have pulled out and untangled, a silent request to be invited to stay.  "Okay, sit," he commands, pointing at the couch.  For once Wade does exactly as he's told.</p><p>Less nervous this time, he finds the seam in the back of Wade's mask immediately, but when he pulls it off, instead of handing it back, he drops it to the table in place of his own.  Wade could still reach for it easily--he'd only need to sit up--but Peter's hoping he won't.  Even when they're just hanging out, Wade tends to keep it on, but Peter likes seeing his face.  As expressive as the Deadpool mask is, nothing beats seeing the way Wade's eyes light up or darken with emotion, every thought laid bare.</p><p>Pulling his own mask on, Peter takes a moment to shove a hand in and flatten his hair down properly before squaring his shoulders, schooling his face as he tries to think of the best way to go about this.</p><p>He's not prepared for Wade to copy him exactly, brows creasing in a tiny frown as he stares hard into the distance, chin jutting slightly.</p><p>Cracking up, Peter ducks his head and shakes it, waving at Wade to stop.  "Come on, man.  I do not look that constipated!"</p><p>"Well, I was going for a Rogers look, and I'm <i>pretty</i> sure he's no stranger to having rods up his--"</p><p>"Wade!"</p><p>He's almost confused by the scandalized look Wade gives him until he realizes Wade is copying him again.</p><p>"Okay, that was too easy," Peter protests.  "You could have guessed that one."</p><p>"So try me again," Wade replies cheekily.  "There's no way I'm gonna lose."</p><p>He's going to let it slide for the moment that he never nailed down exactly what Wade would win if he's right.  Instead he concentrates on altering his expression while moving his face as little as possible:  widening his eyes without shifting his brows, tucking in the corners of his mouth without moving his lips.  Disbelief rises as Wade mimics him correctly each time, even when Peter remains perfectly still and only crosses his eyes.</p><p>That sets off Wade's laughter again, and he's a little too charmed by it to really mind that it's coming at his expense.  It's different seeing the crinkles at the corners of Wade's eyes and not just the flash of his teeth.  More genuine somehow, too unselfconscious to be faked.</p><p>"I don't get it," Peter grumbles, dragging off his mask and letting it drop to the table in mute betrayal.  "How are you <i>seeing</i> this?"</p><p>That clearly sparks a thought, Wade's laughter trailing off as his brows arch in realization.  "Oh...you're right--I didn't think about that.  I mean, <i>I</i> can see the way we're drawn; I forget other people can't."</p><p>Peter sighs.  "We're not in a comic book, Wade," he points out yet again, though honestly, times like this tempt him to wonder.</p><p>"Sure," Wade agrees easily, the way he'd back up a harried parent swearing Santa Claus is real.  Peter's seen him do it.  In this context it's mildly terrifying.</p><p>Glancing down at his mask, Peter's gaze lands on Wade's instead, something tickling at the back of his thoughts.  Despite the crazed robot from earlier--not even evil, just malfunctioning; the inventor himself had flagged them down to request their help--patrol was fairly quiet tonight.  There were no big chases, no shootouts, nothing to really spike the adrenaline high enough to need blowing off later.  He'd invited Wade back to his place to clean up because it was closer, but once the masks came off, he hadn't angled for anything more, because that's...not what they do.  Not how they do it.</p><p>It's <i>always</i> good with Wade, even that first time, but they don't exactly draw it out.  They scratch the itch that needs satisfying and then part ways, or one of them leaves if they made it to an apartment first.  It's simple and uncomplicated and he has <i>no idea</i> what's behind Wade's untroubled smile or what Wade might have assumed Peter saw looking back all along.  He really wants to know, though, because he suspects he's been missing a <i>lot</i>.</p><p>On a whim, he picks up Wade's mask again, and this time he's paying attention.  He sees the fractional widening of Wade's eyes and the way his pupils expand, not just the way he stills and the hitching of his breath.  Slipping on the mask, he comes around the side to sit at the edge of the coffee table in front of Wade, shamelessly manspreading and trying to channel every ounce of the cocky swagger Wade projects like breathing.</p><p>From the way Wade's eyes glaze, he is <i>into it</i>, which stops Peter only for a moment.</p><p>"So...this isn't some sort of narcissistic fantasy, right?" Peter asks even as he's shedding his shirt.  The mask stays on.</p><p>"Fuck, no," Wade says without pause for thought.  He's gripping the couch cushions hard, hands twitching like he wants to reach but is unwilling to push his luck.  "More like--"</p><p>Wade cuts himself off with a hard swallow, a spark of wariness entering his eyes that Peter would never have guessed at.  The part of his lips and the easy sprawl of his body still read as hunger.</p><p>Sliding off the table to straddle Wade's thighs, Peter hikes the bottom of the mask up to the bridge of his nose, leaning in.  "Like what?"</p><p>"Like," Wade manages, and then he's melting into Peter's kiss, the taut muscles of his neck relaxing as Peter cups his nape.  By contrast the corded muscles of his arm tremble as Peter runs his free hand down, fingertips slipping over rippled channels of scars.  Wade shudders but doesn't protest; if anything, he kisses harder, either to distract Peter or to remind him of why they keep doing this.</p><p>Pulling back a little, Peter catches Wade's lower lip gently in his teeth and lets it slip free, ducking his head to lick a hot stripe from the point of Wade's chin to the hollow of his throat.  Groaning helplessly, Wade tips his head back, eyes closed.  Peter wants to ask if he can take off Wade's shirt, but he doesn't want to scare the man.  He wants Wade <i>here</i>, and he's got at least one good idea how to convince Wade to stay.</p><p>"You were saying?" he prompts, giving up on his usual attempts to match Wade's easy lack of possessiveness with studied nonchalance.  He's grinning as he reaches for the drawstring of Wade's pants, flirty and teasing and not caring in the slightest how obvious he's being.  He's not the only one showing his hand here.</p><p>Tipping his head down again, Wade watches in a kind of stunned disbelief as Peter frees his cock from soft plaid flannel--of course he's going commando--then slides off his lap to kneel between his thighs.  Peter wonders if Wade always looks this captivated, like he's getting a present on any day but his birthday, and wishes he'd known sooner if it's true.</p><p>Peter arches a brow as he runs the flat of his tongue up the underside of Wade's cock, making deliberate eye contact and certain for once that Wade is looking back.  That he <i>sees</i>.</p><p>Swallowing again, Wade rallies hoarsely.  "It's like...it's like <i>oh, fuck</i>.  Like when you come home from a job," he pants, the heat in his eyes not slipping even when Peter reaches up and pulls the mask off entirely.  "And there's your girlfriend, and--and she's wearing your sweater," he says, stumbling over his words as Peter finds his hand, detaches it from its death grip on the couch, and threads Wade's fingers through his hair.  "And it's too big on her, and it's just wrapping her up like a big ol' blanket, only like a million times hotter, because it's not just some sweater, and--"</p><p>Peter hums:  in encouragement, in understanding, in pleasure as Wade's fingers tighten, tugging gently at his scalp.  He kind of hates that he had no idea how good that feels until just now.</p><p>"And--fuck," Wade breathes shakily, the muscles in his thighs jumping as he plants his heels against the floor, pressing his own hips deeper into the cushions to keep from thrusting up.  "And it's--fuck, I can't--can't think when you're--fuck, that's so <i>good</i>," he babbles, like he'd taken Peter's teasing interrogation as some kind of <i>directive</i>.  The thought brings a heady flush to Peter's cheeks, leaves him wondering what other requests Wade might be willing to entertain, but that's for later.</p><p>Chasing a meandering path of scars from tip to root with lips and tongue, Peter swallows around the hard, hot intrusion and lets Wade stop his breath.  Wade's cock flexes in his throat, a helpless jolt that rolls through Wade's whole body before it's ruthlessly controlled.  "Fuck, Petey," Wade moans, petting shakily at his hair as Peter starts to bob his head under the weight of Wade's broad palm.  "<i>Fuck</i>."</p><p>Wade doesn't last long after that, coming with a wracking shiver and trying only once to urge Peter off his cock before he chokes.  Peter just holds on, fingers hooked behind the backs of Wade's knees, unabashedly pleased with himself for taking Wade so thoroughly apart.  Wade's quiet as he comes down, but his fingers never stop stroking through Peter's hair, light and gentle.</p><p>When Peter gathers his courage to look up at last. there's aching fondness looking back, and confusion, and maybe a bit of hope.</p><p>"You're staying tonight," Peter asks for the first time, "right?"</p><p>Taking off Wade's mask, Peter decides in that moment, was overkill.  He'd have been able to see the way Wade lights up at the invitation from Mars.</p>
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